


The Art of Collecting Mosquitoes

by softwinds



Series: Guillermo de la Cruz, vampire hunter [1]
Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Nandor is in love, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Frottage, Guillermo being a badass, Guillermo is a vampire hunter, M/M, Vampire Hunters, the vampires are competent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24936535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softwinds/pseuds/softwinds
Summary: “Anyway— I’m going to take a shower and try to go to sleep now. I have most weapons with me still, so I plan to face the suckers tomorrow if I find them.”He takes a deep breath.“Wish me luck. This has been Guillermo, senior mosquito collector of the tri-state area. Signing off now.”-07.28: complete :>
Relationships: Guillermo/Nandor the Relentless (What We Do in the Shadows TV)
Series: Guillermo de la Cruz, vampire hunter [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804801
Comments: 74
Kudos: 179





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Me again (still no beta). This is an AU where Guillermo never became a familiar, but tried his hand at vampire hunting instead. I have the fic laid out in my mind so this will update quickly ( hopefully :> )

Red light blinks as the webcam turns on.

“Today is February 16th, 2019. My name is Guillermo de la Cruz, and this is video entry number two-seven-four.

“I am recording this— well, in my motel room. I’m spending the night here in Homer City, Pennsylvania, and I believe I’m getting close to my target. This might just be positive thinking, but I have a feeling that I’m even closer than I thought. It’s been a very long day, but I got some good leads. So yeah, I’m hopeful.

Guillermo closes his eyes and smiles. He is exhausted; there’s no denying for that. He runs his fingers through his hair, the latter now matted with blood.

“I have been tracking Laszlo Cravensworth and his gang for three weeks now. Laszlo is a smart one, and I knew that I was in for a long chase. Well, lucky for me, he always messes up here and there… Smart, yes, but still not good enough to cover up his body trail.

“This morning around 9 A.M., I was poking around in a gas station, and I spoke with a lady. Her brother went missing, told her that he was working for one James Daytona. The man was in the _novelty topiary business_. Didn’t even know that was a thing. She said that he was pale, charming and _European_ , and he took her baby brother Justin away... You wonder why some people just don’t like _Europeans_.

“I went to his old house, and there were ghouls in the basement.”

Guillermo sighs.

“And Justin was there. Well, most of him, as least? It was done by the ghouls, not by the vampires. He was partially eaten, and that wasn't really a vampire thing. Very bloody room, though. I think someone exploded in there… Yeesh.”

He cringes at the thought of that. Laszlo Cravensworth, he’s either a sadistic master torturer or the worst home decorator in the whole known world. Maybe both, Guillermo doesn’t really want to find out.

“Anyway— I’m going to take a shower and try to go to sleep now. I have most weapons with me still, so I plan to face the suckers tomorrow if I find them.”

He takes a deep breath.

“Wish me luck. This has been Guillermo, senior mosquito collector of the tri-state area. Signing off now.”

-

This is it; Guillermo murmurs to himself. He pulls up into the small parking lot and rolls down the passenger side window. It is 4 P.M. and the bar is still closed. The building is quiet, standing depressingly in the evening winds. The door seems to be locked and all the lights are out. Warm, golden sunlight beams down on a sign near the entrance wall: _Luck Brew’s Bar and Grill_. Now owned by a certain Jackie Daytona, Guillermo has learned: not James, Jackie— very lazy way to change your fake name. Why even bother?

Now, Guillermo just needs to wait. He is contracted to take out a possible murderer, and he knows that the target is inside. Christopher Delmonico, twenty-six years old, snatched from his apple cider stand in Lehigh valley by a Laszlo Cravensworth, last contacted his families from a far corner in Staten Island. That was one month ago. The guy is missing since, presumably dead: he went from posting 30 Facebook updates per hour to posting zero, and that simply “wasn’t Topher”, according to his mom.

Therefore, whoever killed Topher is going to pay.

The night falls as street lights turn on one by one. Guillermo walks towards the bar entrance, where a young woman unlocks the door. He has holy water in his side pocket, a silver cross dangling from his wrist, and a hand pistol filled with silver bullets hanging off his hip, hiding beneath the hem of his sweater. He also brought a short silver knife and some strong mint gums (it calms him down). If these are still not enough— he’ll just have to improvise. And Guillermo is quite good at improvising.

“How are you doing,” he glances at her name tag, “Lucy?”

“Oh, call me Luce.” She gives him a big smile with two rows of regular human teeth, “I’m doing really good! How are you? You are from out of town?”

“Yes, just passing through.” Guillermo points to his van, “You guys do dinner, right?”

Luce nods.

“Come on in! We’re just opening up. I’ll get you settled in a few minutes. Feel free to check out the bar too, alcohol starts at eight when our bartender shows up.”

There’s a certain warmth in Luce’s eyes when she says “bartender”. Guillermo can’t help but smiles back: it always feels good to witness something tender.

The bar is not exactly spacious, but there is a flight of stairs in the back, likely leading to a basement storage room of some sort. With Luce facing away, Guillermo sneaks over and treads down without a sound. It is dark, and the smell of moss and earth gets stronger the deeper he is underground. Finally, he pushes open a rusted steel door and glides inside. He let his pupils adjust: this is not a storage room, but a long, dimly lit hallway. Then it hits him: that faint, metallic scent of blood.

His body tenses up. So it is true, someone is down here.

Guillermo tiptoes forward, clutching his silver cross between his fingers. He looks into the first open room: no one is inside, just a steel boiler humming quietly. The second room, no luck either. Guillermo sticks his back to the wall and moves carefully. The third one is a muted bedroom, with beige sheet and a large cherry wood closet, covering half the bedroom wall. The bed is neatly made up and undisturbed.

An uneasy feeling creeps up Guillermo’s spine. He glides into the dark, silent, and he places his palm on the closet doorknob. Guillermo pulls. For a long, unnerving second, the darkness inside stands still; and all of a sudden, six bright red dots blink on inches in front of him.

Guillermo spontaneously bounces back. He sees pale, bony fingers prying onto the closet frame. Inside, three vampires hiss and bare their teeth, arching their backs like snakes ready to attack.

“Get back!” Guillermo orders as he holds up the silver cross, “Get back and I won’t hurt you!”

The vampires let out a shrill, cringing and cowering back, inimical looks on all their faces. The smallest one, a teenage-looking girl with pointed ears and blue-grey skin, snarls and growls at him.

“What do you want, human? Why did you disturb our slumber?”

“I’m here for Laszlo Cravensworth!” Guillermo commands, “Tell me where he is and we are good. He killed an innocent man, and the family wants him to pay.”

The vampire laughs in a high, brittle voice. Guillermo feels his temple pulsing.

“An innocent man! Very funny, if only there was just one... You know who we are, right? Humans are food… And you smell so nice and tasty—”

“I know who you are.” _And_ _I know how I smell_. Guillermo looks at her dead in the eyes, and moves his wrist closer, which pushes an angry squeal from her throat. He is not above using force to get what he needs, if it is the only possible way. “And I don’t care if you kill to feed. You are going to tell me where Laszlo Cravensworth is. I am here for the one who kills for fun.”

“Laszlo did not do such a thing.” A voice booms from behind him. Guillermo reaches for his pistol without having even a second to think. With one arm still stretched out and holding the cross, Guillermo turns his head and spins to his side, pointing the barrel at his intruder.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure stands in front of him. No breath, no heartbeat— the rounded edges on his face still baring the merits of a man, but a vampire nonetheless. He towers over Guillermo with fire in his eyes, long, dark hair flowing down like silk. Guillermo swallows, trying to conceal the turning panic in his stomach.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Nandor _the relentless_. And this is Stephanie, Iris and Abhishek.” The vampire repeats, “Laszlo did not kill your friend.”

 _He’s not my friend. This is my job._ “Then what happened to him? Topher Delmonico?”

“It was an accident. Topher Delmonico is not dead. He is— he is working for a warlock now.” Nandor holds up both his hands in an attempt of showing peace. His speech is clear and slow, with an accent Guillermo does not recognize. “Laszlo and does not kill men for fun.”

Guillermo brushes his finger upon the trigger, gently, but letting the vampire know that he is capable to pull it down. Never trust a stranger with silvery voice, no matter how much Guillermo wants to.

“And why should I believe you?”

“You do not need to, but I am telling the truth, and you will be killing the wrong man.”

Guillermo feels the strain in his shoulders slightly loosens. At least the vampire is not hostile, so his words might be worth hearing. He searches his brain for more questions.

“What about Justin? Fed to ghouls for business reasons?”

Nandor’s brow twitches. He opens his mouth and closes it again.

“That was also an accident.”

“June Anna Kolpakov, sucked dry and beheaded back in Staten Island.”

“That was… that was someone else.”

“A lot of deaths happen around Laszlo, don’t they,” Guillermo rises his brow, “So many coincidences. So many explanations—”

A sharp brassy clank erupts behind his back. Guillermo turns his neck and everything goes into slow motion. He sees two sharp, yellowing teeth lunging toward him, and what washes over him is the smell of pure rotten death.

Guillermo’s body goes into reaction almost entirely on its own, as adrenaline races through his veins in that one split second. He draws back his empty hand and grabs the spray bottle in his pocket. He crooks his finger and presses down. With silver cross dangling from his wrist, Guillermo turns sideways and leaps back in one swift move. A thin mist of holy water lays out in front of him, barricading between his pistol and what is crashing down into his face. He shuts his eyes and let himself fall, trigger finger bending as his left shoulder slams into the concrete floor with a loud thud. He sees it in his mind, a bright, burning bullet piercing through the air and whizzing towards where he was standing merely one second ago.

Guillermo knows it’s done.

A bone-chilling scream rings through his ears, and the rest of the world shuts down in silence. Guillermo opens his eyes; the three vampires are gone. In the center of the room a bed is flipped over, and a metal vase rolls toward his feet, where a squirming creature collapses into a pile of cold ashes. Through the smoke and dust, he sees Nandor. He is silent, but Guillermo can see the shock on his face.

This is bad. This is very bad. It’s always difficult when there is any witness at all, and it is far worse when the witness does not choose to take flight—which means that they might prefer the other option. And Guillermo does not enjoy fighting. That being said, he still has some confidence that he can take on Nandor, but deep down he wishes that he wouldn’t have to.

Guillermo grips the bottle of holy water as tight as he can. His hand is cold and sweating.

An uncomfortable stillness expands and fills the room.

“That was Julian.” The tall, bearded vampire finally says, “He rests under the bed sometimes.”

“And?” Guillermo is genuinely surprised at how calm he sounds, even though his heart is pounding out of control, “is this going to be another Cravensworth accident?”

“I—No.” Nandor shakes his head, a certain earnestness in his eyes, “I am not going to fight you. Julian should not have done that. It was not your fault.”

Nandor backs away slowly, noiseless like a cat. He puts one pale, veined hand on the door frame, voice soft as whisper, “You should leave now, and Topher will be home soon. Do not tell anyone about what happened tonight. I will tell them you’re dead, that I have torn you from limb to limb.”

Guillermo blinks. Nandor opens his mouth, as if wanting to add something; but he decides not to. He looks somewhat bothered, sad even. Something twists in Guillermo’s chest as the vampire disappears in a column of shimmering dark smoke.

-

When Guillermo eventually calms himself down and walks back upstairs, the sky is dark and there are already people sitting at the booths. A cover version of _Search and Destroy_ fills the room with flushed cheeks and sweaty foreheads, and the bartender nods at him when he walks by. He catches a glimpse of his name tag: Jackie Daytona.

The man smiles widely, sharp red tongue brushing against two pointy vampire teeth, a single toothpick dangling between his lips.

Guillermo looks at Luce, who’s humming along the music and waving her hips slightly side to side. Her eyes are fixated on Jackie—or, the vampire named Laszlo.

Guillermo sighs, and walks out the front door.

-

Days later, when Guillermo is browsing local news after dinner, he will learn that Christopher Delmonico has been found, physically unharmed but mindlessly wandering the streets near New York harbor. He will have no memory of anything that happened in the past few weeks, only a compulsion of calling everyone he knows _Master_.

And that is the first time Guillermo meets Nandor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments welcome ;w;  
> my tumblr https://juicejuicebaby.tumblr.com


	2. Chapter 2

_**MILLBURN, NJ** **March 7th, 2019 at 10:41 AM** Millburn police are trying to locate the owner of an unidentified funeral casket found northeast to Short Hills, New Jersey. Authorities found documents indicating the casket went through US customs and was likely shipped overseas, but could not yet produce its origin or planned destination._

_Two local teenagers spotted the casket Wednesday evening after hearing an “unsettling scream” while jogging near Old Short Hills Park. The casket contained several embalming tools, ruffles, cloaks and other period clothing. A size-ten blue Nike men’s jogging shoe was also found near the casket, the owner yet unknown._

_Millburn police department is looking for more information regarding the mysterious abandoned casket, and they "hope that friends or family members can come forward with possible leads."_

-

The second time Guillermo meets Nandor, he is running for his life. Leaves and branches clatter beneath his shoes as his muscles convulse and expand. Fleeing, skipping, retreating, whatever you call it—it is part of the job. He is taught to keep a steady breath (to try his best, at least), to always go towards the light, and most importantly to never, ever stop running no matter what.

 _Mierda!_ He curses to himself. His chest hurts like burning fire. The moon shines bright above the tree tops, and Guillermo knows that the morning light won’t come up anytime soon. Before that, he must not stop moving if he wants to live. This is truly entirely his own fault. He has made the mistake of coming alone on a _mission_ without intensive scouting—to check on a rumor of resurrected, murderous corpse.

Except that it wasn’t any corpse, nor ghoul or zombie: It was a damn old vampire, and not a friendly one.

 _I am_ _Baron Afanas,_ the skeleton-like undead exclaimed, _and I am here to re-rule your world._ —And Guillermo threw out a stake.

But the Baron has spotted him, and the stake only went through the old scarecrow’s arm. He was toppled over when the Baron’s familiar jumped out of nowhere and pounced down toward his head. He managed to roll away, but lost his coat in the struggle, along with his stakes and gun. Puta... He should have been more careful. He still has his knife, his cross and some holy water, but not enough to kill a _vampire nobility_.

He hears laughter echoing through the woods. He has injured one of the Baron’s arms, so at least he cannot scout him out as a bat in the sky. Guillermo is almost certain the Baron does not know where he is yet, but he cannot sprint all night. He will trip over; his legs will give out; or he will have a heart attack. Maybe all of them at the same time. Numbing pain starts seeking into his brain from the lack of oxygen, like tiny needles bouncing inside his skull. Will he be missed if he dies tonight? How long until people find him, or will they ever do? Guillermo bites down his lips and prays. He has been running for too long, and his vision is starting to blur.

A sharp pain rips through his left foot as sharp debris pierce through his shoes, and he can feel the blood oozing from his wound, probably now emanating his human scent like a vampire GPS. He almost starts crying, because _everything_ just has to betray him tonight.

He is so going to die.

Suddenly a pair of hands grip onto his shoulders. All his hair stands up in unison. Guillermo jumps and chokes down an ugly cry. Then he is lifted—so swiftly and smoothly above the ground, he looks down and sees the tree tops getting smaller and smaller. Guillermo is convinced that this is his soul finally leaving its body. He looks up to the face of god—but there is no halo or the gate of heaven, instead, he sees a woman with sanguine colored lips; her dark, lush locks flowing with the winds.

“Why are you running like this, little human?” She chuckles, “Mind if I have a taste?”

“I’m,” Guillermo manages to squeeze out a few words while desperately clings on to his breath, “The Baron, he’s behind me, please—”

“Who?”

“The Baron, Afanas, tall ashy guy—"

“For fuck’s sake, the Baron,” the vampire woman groans and rolls her eyes, “Why is the old shit out again? Is he not entertained? He is determined to get us all KILLED, bloody asshole!”

With voice strong enough to scrape under Guillermo's skin, she hollers, “LASZLO—The Baron is doing things again!”

“What?”

From the corner of his eyes, Guillermo sees a dark, blurry figures floating closer from his left. He turns his head— a stout, dark-haired man waves at them. It’s _Laszlo. Laszlo from the bar and grill._

“What’s the matter, my love? And who is this young man?” He squishes his brows together, pointing his chin at Guillermo, “Greetings! My name is Laszlo Cravensworth, vampire, gentleman, arts and crafts extraordinaire. Mind explain why you are flying alone with my wife? Did this man force you, my sweet darling pie?”

“I didn't—”

“Leave the guy alone, Laszlo.” A familiar voice joins them, “Hello, Nadja!”

Guillermo swallows. He turns to find the source of that voice. A tall, long-haired vampire rises up from below them, and flashes him a toothy smile. It’s the vampire from weeks ago, Nandor the relentless—he’s wearing a dark coat and a blood-red shirt; a small, neatly-made knotbun tied behind his skull, the rest of his hair flowing against his shoulder like velvet on stone. He has a feeling that Nandor has recognized him from their basement fight, which makes his stomach twist and burn at the same time.

“Fucking Baron is out again. The old bastard is going absolutely feral!” Nadja accuses, her nails digging into Guillermo’s arms, “Look at our poor dinner! He’s scared shitless and he just ran for five hundred miles! Now the blood won’t even taste right!”

“Actually, I’d really prefer it if you don’t suck—”

“Now now. Hold your tongue when my wife is talking.” Laszlo interrupts him. He pauses a bit, voice turned low and hurried, “Well, the royal prick has got to go. I have had enough of this bullcrap. I say tonight is the night.”

He pauses again and waits. There is a moment of profound silence. After a beat, Nandor tuns to Nadja, and the calm tone in his speech shifts, “Nadja, do we agree on this?”

“Of course I agree on this! I swear to hell and the devil’s teats, I can’t live like this for one more bloody second. The only one happy that he’s in OUR house is Colin freaking Robinson—”

“Okay! Okay. But I am putting it out here right now, this is going to get very messy.” Nandor holds up his hands defensively, “We have agreed. The Baron goes tonight.”

The vampires make an acute turn and fly faster. Chilling winds hit across Guillermo’s cheeks, filling his ears with high pitched whistles. His breaths are starting to calm, and the peculiar feeling of having his legs dangling miles in midair suddenly catches up on him. “Where are we going?” Guillermo yells.

“To our home! Oh, I almost forgot you are still here.” Nadja lifts him up a bit higher, “Should I drop you? I don’t have an appetite anymore.”

“No don’t—“

“Don not drop the man, Nadja!” Nandor calls out; Guillermo can see his throat moves, “He can be of our use. He can be the lure for the Baron! He was chasing him already!”

“A fabulous idea, Nandor!” Laszlo agrees, “And that’s what you get for being impolite with my wife!”

-

They glide over the landscape of New York City among owls and mockingbirds, the latter crying and diving low. When they finally do land, Guillermo can swear there are finger holes in his arms. Guillermo is dropped to the ground face first. He looks up from the cold, hard winter soil, realizing that they are in the backyard of a shabby looking old house. Although nearly covered by ivies, Guillermo can see layers of newspapers covering the small back window.

“Welcome to our grandiose vampiric home, young human man. Make yourself comfortable for your very last night.” Laszlo takes Nadja’s hand and walks right past him.

Nandor rolls his eyes and sighs in defeat, holding out an arm towards Guillermo. Guillermo freezes, unsure about what to do— vampires are not known to be helpful, especially when it involves being touchy.

“What is your name?” The vampire asks.

“My name?” Guillermo is caught off guard, “Oh. My name is Guillermo.”

“Guillermo,” Nandor intones, sharp teeth flashing in the moonlight, “Make yourself more useful. Or are you going to sit here all night and not help us?”

Guillermo can feel himself flushing red. Strangely, he doesn’t feel particularly threatened. He reaches over, pulling himself up with the help of Nandor’s hand. The vampire visibly twitches when Guillermo’s fingers press upon his palm, of which he can only interpret as shock or repulse.

Guillermo quickly draws back his arm. Nandor is cold to the touch, but the roughness of his skin feels all too human. He gulps, suddenly unsure about what to do with his limbs— he blames it on all the running and flying.

Guillermo scuffles along into the vampire residence, suddenly reminded of his bleeding foot; that sharp pain sizzles up his leg and knocks out a quieted whimper from the back of his throat. Going near the shut door, Guillermo smells a whiff of gore and human decay. It hits him like a boxer punch.

And he sees the bodies. Men, women, piling up on the floor unattended. Engorged, rotten, some split open with guts pouring out as if for display and amusement. Panic spasms through his spine and the realization suddenly dawns on him: everything he believed about Laszlo and Nandor could be a nasty lie.

Guillermo feels the need to throw up when a piercing, distorted bell ring vibrates the room.

“Laszlo!” Nadja mouths, “Go get the door!”

Laszlo shakes his head furiously.

“Nandor!” Nadja grimaces. Guillermo feels his blood shot to his brain when he skitters up a flight of stairs, concealing himself in the shadow. The door flings open and a pale, rawboned body stretches against the night sky.

“ _My Slumber… is complete.”_ The Baron opens his arms, a darkened hole near his shoulder, “ _It was pleasant, until I was rudely disturbed—by a human! But I can sense it… he is here_.”

“Yes! Baron,” Nadja stutters, “We have caught him and we have prepared him very nicely for you—”

Nadja doesn’t have a chance to finish her sentence when Nandor leaps into midair. He growls, and the other two vampires disappear into a giant blob of smoke. The Baron rises his brow in confusion, and it immediately turns into a disdained sneer. He twists his fingers in Nandor’s direction. An imperceptible force pins Nandor against the wall with a loud thump. A broken cry escapes from Nandor’s throat as the Baron suddenly shifts forward, about four feet into the hallway. His unhurt arm extends out like tree branch. The door slams shut behind him. 

“ _Disrespectful_ ,” the Baron scoffs, “ _What do you think you are doing? You were a warrior with loyalty. Nandor, you disappoint me_.”

The dark-haired vampire groans in pain. Struggling, his righthand crawls towards a metal wall lamp above his wrist. But his restrainer grunts and spread out his palm, pinning him in place like a moth trapped in a spider’s net. Guillermo covers his mouth. His heart is racing and screaming, that he must do something— and he must do it now. His brain goes into override like a web of tangled, charged wires. He must decide. He have to make a move. Guillermo holds his breath and shuts his eyes. White, searing heat washes over him as he yanks himself up. He darts forward and flips over the second-floor hand rail, compacting his limbs as much as he can, breaking a piece of rod as he falls.

Guillermo crashes into the floor knees first.

The Baron turns his head. He swings his body around like a rootless phantom, and Nandor drops to the ground. He chuckles, one long, twisted finger points toward Guillermo.

“Ah! Here you are, little human. What deal did you strike with my servants—my once loyal varlets? What a shame it is, to perish for such _brittle, frail, mortal thing_.”

“We made no deal.” Guillermo breathes in, “Your friends think you’re a pain in the ass.”

He charges forward with all he can manage. The broken piece of rod is clenched tightly in his palm, wood splinters jab into his skin but he feels no pain. The Baron does not hesitate. His rake like body veers towards him like a viper, but Guillermo drops his head and dives under the Baron’s arm. He crosses his feet and spins around to his side. His opponent hisses at his loss and sweeps back his arm, elbow hammering towards Guillermo’s nose. Guillermo sidles and ducks down once again, heel digging down with force to keep balance the best he can.

Guillermo steadies himself with one hurt foot. Recoiled, he arches his back and lunges forward with full exertion. He closes his eyes and prays for guidance. The broken rod pushes forward in one swift move, and for a moment Guillermo can sense everything in his mind: the gory room, the flooring, the settling dust, and his hand aiming towards the undead creature’s twitching ribcage.

And it happens, that wet, cloying feeling when you stake through a vampire’s cold, dead heart. Shielding flesh breaks apart around the head of his rod, and Guillermo lets himself fall forward with the momentum of his arm. In a moment of daze and stupor, Guillermo opens his eyes.

Within inches, the Baron stares back at him, face frozen in his final disbelief.

“Time to go now.”

The Baron let out a screeching wail, like he can’t quite find his voice box. His chest topples beneath Guillermo, then his shoulder and neck; finally, those pale, malformed cheeks hollow in as his two burning red eyes crumble into dust.

The room is dead silent, except for Guillermo’s breaths. His head is buzzing out of control. Guillermo rolls over and lets his back hits the ground, doesn’t even flinch when his arm drops into a pile of ashes. Guillermo has no idea how much time has passed when he feels a tall shadow looming over him.

“Guillermo?”

The figure bends down. Strong, massive hands grip onto his arms, lifting him up.

An innocent part of him wants to give in and allow himself to be handled, but his still-barely-functioning brain screams danger like fire alarms. With hands limping on his side, Guillermo reaches for his silver pocketknife. He digs his other hand into Nandor’s waist and slams down to his left. The floor creaks as they both drop to the ground, with Guillermo kneeling over Nandor, silver blade brushing against the vampire’s throat and holding him in place.

“Guillermo? Stay calm now.” Nandor twitches under his thighs, “It is just me. You have killed the Baron. I am not going to hurt you.”

There’s a strain in his tone, but it’s still somehow smooth and drawling, and Guillermo finds it weirdly comforting at the moment. Guillermo breaths in, and bites back the dreads of what he's about to ask.

“ _Nandor the relentless,_ ” He swallows, “tell me about the dead bodies.”

“Dead bodies?” Nandor mutters, “The people I killed? We are vampires, Guillermo. We have to suck human blood to live. I thought you knew that.”

“Not the people you ate, Nandor. The goddamn body piles in the house. You only need to feed once a week, not once per freaking hour.” His voice is trembling.

“The Baron hunted for his amusement.” Nandor avows. “So we decided he had to go.”

“And you expect me to believe you again.” Guillermo snaps back, pushing his blade a bit closer against Nandor’s jaw. Do those blue veins still pulse under his skin?—he wonders. The vampire hisses in pain and lifts up his chin, an unreadable look in his eyes. Guillermo watches, but there is no indication of truth or dishonesty. His fingers settle on Guillermo’s thighs, as if trying to calm him down a little.

“I used to take joy in conquering and pillaging. That was all I did, for a long time. I no longer do.” Nandor pauses, his voice low and quiet, “Nadja and Laszlo are not made for killing. They are only made for very loud love-making... don’t tell them I said that.”

Guillermo feels his heart pounding. Eventually, His dumb, intuitive, sappy birdbrain takes over control. He wonders if the vampire has put him under hypnosis, or is he going to make the biggest mistake of his life all on his own like the idiot he is. It might just be the last mistake he can afford.

“Prove it to me then.” He already regrets this, “You owe me a debt, _Nandor the relentless_. I will come find you when I need my payback, and you will help me for one job. And I will leave you alone.”

“What if I just leave here and move?”

“Then I will track you down. And I will make it painful.”

Nandor gazes upon his face. His massive palms slide loose from Guillermo’s thighs, and he nods. Guillermo can see his lips trembling lightly, his irises large and filled with unworldly sparks.

“Who are you, Guillermo?” the vampire murmurs, “Why are you here?”

“My name is Guillermo de la Cruz, and I’m a hunter of your kind.” Guillermo stares down into his vampire’s eyes, echoing his soft, velvety voice, “I am to slay _the most unholy_ , and I hope you’re not one of them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP baron sorry you had to go (throws baseball cap into water)  
> thanks for all the comments and kudos!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok this is longer that i planned but I had too much fun writing it ahh  
> tw: blood drinking, mild sexual content

**_Tonya.K_** _Today at 2:04 PM_

Dude

You are not really going right???

 **GDLC** _Today at 2:06 PM_

Oh I AM going. Don’t worry about me though, not trying anything dangerous

have people on the inside

**NotTheRealCraigRobinson** _Today at 2:06 PM_

Guillermo are you sure she is legit

 **GDLC** _Today at 2:07 PM_

Yeah I’ve known Jane since HS. She’s working for Simon now

**Derek** _Today at 2:10 PM_

what she working on

**GDLC** _Today at 2:15 PM_

Accounting I think? She showed me their books

**Derek** _Today at 2:15 PM_

ACCOUNTING

booooo

**ShaniceMagic** _Today at 2:15 PM_

Nothing wrong w/ accounting ok

**Derek** _Today at 2:16 PM_

“oH SuRe hUMaNs cAn do MatHs” stereotyping at its finest

I failed algebra 9 times love

and I did it to shatter the glass ceiling

 **Shanice** **Magic** _Today at 2:17 PM_

Not how it works Derek

**_Tonya.K_** _Today at 2:20 PM_

Anyway good luck Guillermo! Call me if you’re in trouble.

**GDLC** _Today at 2:21 PM_

Thanks Tonya!

**NotTheRealCraigRobinson** _Today at 2:24 PM_

Take care my man

**Multiple people are typing…**

-

Guillermo has many flaws, but he is not naive. He knows all vampires have blood on their hands; none of them is truly innocent. They are night lurkers, bloodsuckers, the unclean, the infernal, the living after death. They prey on human to survive. In the court of man, all vampires would be trialed, convicted and destroyed. Guillermo understands that, and he’s not one to chide against it.

However, this is not to say he hates all vampires. Does a farm cattle hate all human kind? Likely not. Well—at least Guillermo hopes they don’t.

He is a vampire hunter, or a slayer, an avenger of man, a _mosquito collector_. He takes contracts and hunt down vampires when he’s asked to, mostly by those who have lost loved ones to the undead. One may take his road as a righteous one, but deep down he knows: he is little more than a glorified contract killer. Only more justifiable, more or less, since the ones who gets caught are usually the most arrogant and vile. Other than that, Guillermo doesn’t pick and choose.

He didn’t expect the whole Nandor thing to work out really, for he is anything but delusional: he expected the gang to have fled. But when Guillermo stands upon their doorstep at 10 p.m. and rings the shrieking-crying-doorbell, he is surprised to find himself welcomed. Not by any vampire he recognizes—not Nandor, nor a wincing Nadja or Laszlo, but by a (quite Dilbert-looking) human man.

“Uhm,” Guillermo hesitates, “Sorry. Do you live here?”

“Yes?” The man raises up an eyebrow. Suddenly, realizing something, his whole face lights up, “Are you here for community survey?”

“What? No. It’s ten already? I’m –”

“Because if you do, I have some strong opinons about the dog park three miles down the street. I am not a dog owner myself, rather a cat guy, if you will.” The man frowns, “I just don’t understand why people think it’s fine to let their dogs wander around all the way to my front door. And they—"

“I am not here for community survey!” Guillermo tries to interrupt his speech, “I’m really sorry. I’m here for Nandor, if he lives here?”

“Oh! Cool, got you. You don’t care about people’s quality of life, no worries.” the man shrugs, “What is his last name?”

Christ. Guillermo curses to himself. _The Relentless_? He can’t possibly say that. _De_ Relentless? Fuck. Guillermo feels his cheeks burning, “You know what, maybe this is the wrong house. I’m really sorry. I got to go–”

“Just kidding!” The man grins and turns his body aside, waving him in. Guillermo can swear his eyes have turned unnaturally blue for a second, “Of course Nandor lives here. Come on in! So, you’re his new friend? Tell me about it. Do you like coffee or tea?”

“Coffee is fine.” Guillermo looks around the doorway. The bodies are gone, the corner where he killed Baron is now covered by a small, raggedy piece of rug.

“I’m sorry. We don’t actually have running water in the house.” Gilbert says confidently, “My name is Colin Robinson. And your name is?”

“… I’m Guillermo.”

“Ahh, Guillermo!” Colin seats him down in an armchair, “You watch _Jimmy Kimmel_ much?”

“Sorry, what?” Guillermo has never felt so powerless, “No? Uh, it would be great if I can just talk to—”

“Colin Robinson! Will you stop draining whoever you are draining? It is too early in the evening!” A head appears out of the upstairs shadow, lazily glancing down, and freezes when those eyes meet Guillermo’s, “Oh. It’s you?”

“Hi.” Guillermo stands up and waves awkwardly. The vampire’s presence alone seems to have lowered his mastery of human language, a phenomenon he is yet to fully understand. Also, he really wishes to get away from Colin Robinson as fast as possible.

“Why don’t you… come on up? We can talk in my room.”

“Yeah.” Guillermo tries to sound casual and more or less confident, although he hasn’t been feeling so when thinking of Nandor and the whole event, “Sure.”

-

It’s nice, really, to be able to speak calmly with a vampire. Without hissing or menacing or any-last-words-before-you-die, Guillermo almost feels sane. His eyes wander across the room—furniture in velvet, wood and iron, large oriental rugs, portraits with brushworks of centuries and lands, a dark-colored coffin—and finally land on Nandor, sitting in a purple winged chair across Guillermo.

He watches as the vampire’s hands interlock. Those fingers are long, defined and evidently well-kept, the shape of phalange bones barely visible under his pale skin. A large ring locks around his index finger, edging in his flesh slightly. Guillermo feels his face growing hotter.

He is dragged back into reality when Nandor let out a light cough.

“So, Guillermo. I think I know why you are here.”

“Yes.” Guillermo replies, “I told you the last time we spoke.”

“Still. I suppose you are here for your payback, because I owe you a favor, according to you.”

“And do you think so?” Guillermo draws his brows together, “That you owe me a favor?”

Nandor stares at him, slightly surprised. They look at each other in silence, before Nandor sighs and turns his face away, fingers tapping on his chair handle.

“What can I do for you then, _vampire hunter_?” He leans back into his chair, “ _Hunting vampires_?”

“I need to get in a place, and I need you to distract someone for me.” Guillermo ignores the thin discontent in his tone, “Do you know the Sassy Cat Club?”

“The Sassy Cat Club, in Manhattan,” Nandor’s eyes narrow, “ _Simon the Devious runs_ owns that place. I would not try to irritate him if I were you.”

“I’m not planning to. I just need to get in and talk to someone.”

“To whom? Another vampire who is in your debt?” Nandor’s lips stretch tighter. Guillermo catches a glimpse of disappointment on his face, but it vanishes as quick as it appears.

“No, it’s a human. She was my friend, and I have known her for a very long time.”

“And how long could that be? Two hundred years? One hundred?” Nandor rolls his eyes a little, “You humans make friends too easily.”

“Since high school, actually. She works for Simon now. We’ve been talking, and there’s something she wants me to see.” Guillermo exhales, “She told me that Simon is abducting—kidnapping elders from retirement homes. And they’re brought to the club to _entertain guests_. She has the records, and I need to know their names.”

“So why do you need my help for that, Guillermo?”

“I will go in alone, but I want—I need you there to bring me out. I need someone to distract Simon so I can talk to her safely in private.” Guillermo gazes into Nandor’s eyes, “And I want out quick, without trouble. Pretend that I’m your dinner or whatever you prefer and take me back on the street. That’s all I need.”

The vampire parts his lips and closes them again. “And you will trust that I am not a psycho-killer?”

“Yes.” Guillermo sighs to himself, “And then I will leave you alone.”

“You already trust me to not talk about your plan with Simon.”

“You wouldn’t try to kill me, Nandor. I am in your house, and you are not attacking me. You didn’t for the first two times.” He tries to sound self-assured to at least convince himself, “And I will come back to haunt you if you do.”

“Ghost does not exist, Guillermo. They are only made up to scare little children.” Nandor shakes his head pitifully, “Despite that, yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes! You just have to make me say it. You have my promise. I don’t make promises very often, Guillermo, so treasure that.”

“Good. Tomorrow at ten, get to the club, talk to Simon.” Guillermo pulls himself up, flashing a faint smile at the vampire. He feels strangely melancholic, like a kid who just broke the string on his kite, “Hold a chat until I finish, and bring me back out. Then we are even.”

Nandor is determined to not look at him, instead he turns to his table and starts scribbling.

Guillermo doesn’t look back when he hears the vampire whispers goodbye.

-

Guillermo is patted down. No liquid, no silver, human—the securities look at him with a knowing grin, smacking their mouths as they reach into his pocket. The humans who tries to enter the club are usually willing food, ready to be drained and devoured by the end of night, for various (and unsurprisingly, mostly sexual) reasons that Guillermo can’t fully understand.

He catches a glimpse of Nandor as he passes through the crowd. He’s wearing a gold-patterned long vest and a carmine cape, hair now curled into locks, chatting with a blond vampire woman. He seems cheerful and relaxed. He then spots Colin Robinson walking towards the pair, wearing a bright yellow raincoat for some reason—and Guillermo feels strangely relieved. The next time his eyes land on Nandor, the woman is gone and he is walking towards up to _Simon_ —a shorter, slender vampire in a burgundy suit, playing with flaming arrows while laughing exaggeratedly, head thrown back and chest pushed up. He sees Nadja standing behind him, smiling and clapping her hands.

The club reeks of fresh and staled blood, occasional spiked with a mixture of alcohol, preassembly from the humans having their last bit of fun. Guillermo is able to squeeze across the dancefloor thanks to the abundance of different scents. He leads himself further away from the crowd or any dark corners, finally entering a long-winded corridor, unoccupied by vampires or humans.

Guillermo looks down at his phone screen. There’s no signal, and the last text from Jane reads _Meet me in the Office, forth door on the left._ He is there.

“Jane?” Guillermo asks, hesitantly. The door of _Office_ is half opened, and the room unlit. A long-haired woman is behind the table, resting her head on one hand, and Guillermo quietly glides inside.

“Guillermo!” The woman smiles and opens her arm. She stands up in the shadow, long silver hair reaching her shoulder. Guillermo cannot see her face clearly, but her voice is unchanged from the Jane he knew, “I’m so glad you came!”

“Yes, and thank you for inviting me.” Guillermo steps closer to her desk, keeping his head straight while browsing the room with the corners of his eyes, “so, where are the records you want to show me, Jane?”

“Not even a small talk first?” Jane tilts her head to the side, “I haven’t seen you in such a long time, Guillermo. What have you been up to? Besides your work, of course.”

“Nothing—nothing much. Just doing my job. Sorry, but I need to get out of here quickly, really.” Guillermo feels his throat running dry, sometimes unsettling brewing in the back of his mind. He slides his hand into his pocket and brushes against his fully wrapped steel cross, unpeeling the bandages on its surface.

“Why do you want out quickly, Guillermo? You should tell me more about your job,” Jane giggles and walks around her table, smooth like a seabird on open water. Moonlight shines upon her face through the open window, and Guillermo instinctively holds up his arm with the steel cross in his hand. Jane throws her body back and hisses in pain, revealing her short yet sharp fangs.

“Jane,” Guillermo bounces back against the wall, still facing the vampire _he went to school_ with, his hand shaking in anger and disbelief, “Jane, what have you done?”

“I’m a vampire now, Guillermo. Did you not know that?” She struggles to get back on her feet, “Did I not tell you?”

“Listen!” Guillermo pushes himself towards the entrance door. He wants no trouble in a vampire club, “I just want to go, Jane. It’s okay. I don’t want to fight you. Just stay there until I get out of the door.”

“And why would I, Guillermo?” She arches her back and snaps her fingers. Two small, greyish bats dart towards Guillermo from god knows where, dropping on his side as two tall, leather-covered women, grappling his arms with viselike strength. Guillermo struggles to twist back his wrist, pushing the steel cross against one of his restrainer’s hand, and instantly hears the sizzling of burning flesh. The owner of that hand—a magenta-haired woman, lets out a high pitched shrill and loosens her grip. But the other vampire hisses, swinging to her side, slamming her fist into Guillermo’s stomach with a dull thud. Guillermo is knocked to the ground, temporarily subdued, fire rising up his lungs making him unable to breath. The vampire steps on his hand, grinding down until Guillermo lets go of his cross, and kicks it far into the other end of the room.

They drag him up by the upper arms, facing him towards Jane.

“The _twisted sisters, of the leather skins_.” Jane introduces, voice lofty and proud, “And they are not related. With _Jane the soulless_ , also of the _Leather Skins_.”

“What do you want, Jane?” Guillermo wheezes in pain, “I have nothing you need. You have enough volunteer dinners in this place.”

“But I promised Simon, Guillermo. I’m just a poor sweet vampire, and I have spent weeks chatting with you, a vampire _killer_.” She crinkles her nose, “We are taking you to Simon. Sorry, Guillermo, but he will decide what to do with you.”

“I hope you’ve made peace with yourself.” One of the sister glares at him in disgust, the other one yanks his head back by his hair, forcing him to stand up. Guillermo stumbles as he is dragged out of the room, turning, and up a flight of steep stairs. A door sweeps open in his face, and he is thrown to the ground. Guillermo looks up. He instantly realizes that he is surrounded. The floor is smoothly tiled, a red lounge sofa stands in front oh him. And the vampires—sitting, standing, lazily leaning against one another—all look at him mockingly. He is clearly back into the club, in a side room maybe. The walls are all made of one-way glass, and Guillermo can see the dim, provoking light flashing across the crowded dancefloor every second.

“Look who we got here.” Someone chuckles on his side, voice taunting and sly. Guillermo turns his head. A pair of pointed dress shoes half faces him, turning their heels. Guillermo picks up his chin and sees Simon, smirking ear to ear. Behind him, _Nandor_ stands against the glass wall, towering over Simon, a polite smile frozen on his face, his eyes large and stunned. The cravensworths are seated on his left, with glasses of blood-red liquid in their hands, brows knotted in confusion.

“Nandor, Nadja,” Simon swings his head aside and grins, “And _Laszlo_. I am _so happy_ you guys are here today. What were we talking about again? You know what, doesn’t even matter, because Jane has just come in with such a _wonderful_ present! Why don’t you tell us who this is, Jane?”

“This is a _vampire killer_.” His then-friend declares. Loud hissings echo among the vampires, and Guillermo tries his best to keep his eyes on the ground.

“Jane has spent weeks on her phone, talking to our little friend here. And today, the great _vampire killer_ is captured by our little crew. Sneaking in to the Sassy Cats club with a bloody cross, trying to get our confidential records. But did he succeed?” Simon puts his hand behind his ear, “No! That’s too bad, getting caught red-handed. What should we do with you, _vampire killer_?”

He chuckles, and the vampires all start laughing fawningly.

“Tear the boy apart slowly.” A sideburn-rocking vampire suggests, “Make him pay, right? For the ones he hurt.”

“Did he kill any vampire already, Jane?” Someone spits, “Or is it some sick human fantasy?”

“Did you do it, what’s-his-name?” Simon nudges his shoulder with his shoe. Guillermo bites down his lip and clenches his fists on the floor.

“He didn’t mention to me.” Jane replies, “It’s on his mind at least. A human, trying to stir around in our business. That’s never acceptable.”

“Let’s drain him up already.”

“Why are we waiting?”

“So many ideas, so hard to decide on exactly which one to choose… but it will be a _party_.” Simon says in a low voice, “Each and every one of you should be glad that you’re here tonight. Nothing trumps a good torture-and-feast for group bounding, am I right?”

The vampires hum in agreement. Please, Guillermo thinks to himself, please do something. He glares up to Nandor’s eyes as if he can read his mind. A flash of shock glides up Nandor’s face, which quickly disappears as he meets Guillermo’s gaze.

Nandor parts his lips.

“Get up, Guillermo.” He orders, voice firm and clear. Simon raises his brows, gesturing for the room to quiet down. Guillermo’s heart is pounding so loudly it vibrates between his ribs, but he manages to find his balance and pushes himself up from the ground. Simon does not stop him, just watches him like a spider to its victim.

With his head low, Guillermo stumbles to Nandor’s side. The vampire flinches, but does not say a word.

“You two know each other?” Simon tilts his head curiously, “Did the human try to stake you or something?”

“No,” Nandor turns to Nadja and Laszlo briefly before giving his answer, dragging each syllable out to their longest extent, “I know him from… someplace else.”

“You know the _vampire killer_ from someplace else. What place is that, Nandor? And what the _hell_ are you trying to say?”

“He is not a vampire killer!” Nandor pushes up an obviously forced smile, the heel of his palm pressing into the small of Guillermo’s back. “Guillermo is— my familiar.”

“Oh. There it is. I’m sorry for my mistake then, I must say, to mistreat your familiar,” Simon drops his brows dramatically, before sailing forward and pushes himself against Guillermo’s chest, “Except that he is NOT! What do you think I am, fucking stupid? Am I a six-month-old little baby to you?”

Nandor hisses and drags Guillermo closer to his side. One or two of Leather Skins bare their teeth in response, but Simon waves them off and draws back slightly.

“Wow! Calm down, big guy. Don’t worry, boys. I’ll handle this.”

Simon crooks his finger, gesturing for the silver-haired vampire to come forward.

“Show him your phone, Jane _the Soulless_.” Jane pulls out a cellphone and sticks it under Nandor’s nose, and Simon continues, “Your _familiar_ has been getting into some serious business here. Poking around my nightclub carrying a fucking cross, talking about KILLING vampires! It seems to me that he is not a _servant_ of any vampire, but a sneaky, filthy little _rat_ trying to chew my crew down—”

“I’m—”

“Silence!” Nandor glares down at Guillermo, eyes hardened, “How dare you speak when the vampires are talking.”

Guillermo nods shakily. He can feel his face burning up from Nandor’s scoff, even though he knows full well that the vampire is only trying to cover for him.

“I apologize to you and your crew, Simon. Guillermo can be a lousy familiar, but he is very loyal. He is not trying to harm anyone. This is just… a scheme he is working on.”

“What the hell is he talking about?” Nadja mouths to Laszlo nervously.

“Guillermo was playing pretend to be a vampire killer. He puts information onto the webbed net, and people who has problems with vampires come to contact him,” Nandor continues, “And Guillermo would go in and bring them to our home. Then I will come out and eat them. I also make it extra torturous, because they dare to plot against vampires. Isn’t that true, Guillermo?”

“Yes,” Guillermo tries to keep his voice low, “… _master_.”

Simon is taken aback slightly. He waves Jane over and whispers into her ears, before nodding to something that Jane whispers back.

“I have to be frank with you. That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard, Nandor.”

“That is because Guillermo is very thick and dimwitted, and I will give him a harsh talking to when we get home.” Nandor moves his hand onto Guillermo’s shoulder, “And we will be leaving now.”

“Yes, we’d like to be going home.” Nadja nods and holds onto Laszlo’s arm, “I’m sure this is just a big stinking misunderstanding.”

“Uh-uh, not going to happen,” Simon leans close to Guillermo with a lewd smile, and _sniffs_ , “Delicious little one you got here. Ever tried the flavor? Bet it’s sweet and _spicy_.”

“I do not feed on my familiar, Simon.”

“Well, too bad,” Simon flashes him a fake, toothy grin, “Cause now you do.”

Guillermo clenches his fist so hard until his arms no longer feel numb and ice-cold. He’s not sure if he fully understands the implication, or maybe he doesn’t really want to. Nandor’s fingers tighten on his shoulder like a clamp with its pearl.

“I will not eat him, and I will not eat anyone in front of all these people,” Nandor brawls, “My name is not Nandor the Spineless, and I will not risk _killing_ a perfectly fine familiar for a stupid food-collecting project.”

“My friend, you got to understand. I’m only doing you a favor for old time’s sake.” Simon straightens the lapels on his suit, “You have come to _my_ club, _my_ home, _my_ hangout, telling ME to not kill who I captured. You have disrespected me, Nandor. But I forgive you. I will let him live because of you. But if he really is your familiar, you have to teach him a _good_ lesson.”

He claps his hand, and two of the Leather Skins – a burly long-haired man and the one wearing sunglasses– materialize besides Nadja and Laszlo in thin smoke, pushing into their space and forcing them to sink back against their seats. All of a sudden, the whole crew rise up from where they were and move towards Nandor, a hissing barrier forming between him and his roommates.

“What will happen to your little gang, Nandor? Is it really worth it? What will happen to poor Laszlo?”

“Bite the man’s damn neck, Nandor!” Laszlo yells from behind the body wall, voice muffled, “Suck his FUCKING dick if you have to, just get us out of here!”

Guillermo looks up to Nandor, who’s staring straight into Simon’s face, his mouth stretched into a thin, angry line as if he’s grinding down his wrath. Guillermo wants to jump up, to push Simon down and punch his nose in, but that would likely get himself killed after only one blow—he is a vampire slayer, but still a human, and a human without weapon in a room filled with vampires. He bites down his teeth. If the foreseeable conclusions are equally depressing, he would rather hand his life to someone he chooses—the one he bears a puzzling trust for— the one who’s standing beside him, lying for him, holding him down even though he’s not asked to.

“I’m sorry, _Master._ ” Guillermo mutters under his breaths, “My blood is yours for the taking.”

Simon chuckles, eyeing him like a cat to its plaything.

“What are you waiting for, my friend? Do you not know how to _suck blood_ , or do I need to teach you?” He grins, leaning into Guillermo’s face and opens up his mouth. Guillermo can feel the intense heat radiating from his tongue, wet and hungry against his skin. But then the mouth is gone, as Guillermo is yanked back by his shoulder and bashed into an one-way glass wall. Nandor stares down at him, eyes dark as night sky. His fangs are sharp and lengthened, making Guillermo’s skin pulses with illusory pain.

When Nandor speaks, his voice is deep, hoarse and unsteady.

“Guillermo, come here and put your neck in my mouth.”

Guillermo swallows. He closes his eyes and wrenches his face to the side, reveling the curve of his neck. He can feel Nandor’s fingers sliding into his hair, supporting the back of his skull and guiding him up.

Then, a pair of lips land on his skin. Guillermo shudders at their softness, as well as the thought of what is coming. He cries out in pain when the tips of Nandor’s fangs penetrate his skin. He hears snickers, mocking and huffy, and someone’s soft, cut-back moan. Guillermo clenches his fists into Nandor’s cloak, then onto his waist, his legs kicking uncontrollably, but those teeth only sink deeper in spite of his struggle.

A voice chuckle in the distance as he bites down another muffled cry. He feels Nandor’s fingers suddenly dig down deeper, beard pressing into the hollow of Guillermo’s neck, as blood begins to leave his body. A whimper escapes from him against his will. His skin is stretching so tightly around Nandor’s teeth, dragging the vampire’s lips down, welcoming his merciless thirst. His limbs are yielding, and he holds onto Nandor’s body so close and tightly, because that’s all he has and all he can do. The sensation is so foreign, so sharp, like he is taken apart and unweaved by the end of a single string. Guillermo can feel coming tears rush through under his eyelids, but he tries his best to keep his face dry. Nandor hums.

The pain is keen and unforgiving at first, but soon after it blurs and dilutes, until it’s entirely transformed into something else. Guillermo feels one of Nandor’s hands leave the back of his head and pushes against his chest, then it glides down, slipping up the hem of his shirt and pressing onto his skin. Guillermo moans. He is so light-headed, shuddering, the numbness on his neck now burning like fire in a furnace, and he can no longer distinguish between pleasure and agony. He catches himself grinding against Nandor’s thigh, trying to resolve the torturous, growing hardness between his legs.

Nandor buzzes beneath his chin, pressing against his body like a tiger conquering its prey. He grips tightly around Guillermo’s hips, as Guillermo fastens his thrusts without thinking. He let out an open-mouthed groan when the torturing pleasure builds up even thicker below his stomach, pushing him further away from reality.

Guillermo should feel at least the slightest bit of shame, but he could not care less. The world has faded away and he is falling, reeling down a misty, ravenous hollow where all he can grasp is Nandor and his own fluttering heartbeat.

“Please,” he hears himself pleading, “Please—”

Please what? Guillermo does not know. Nandor growls and tugs him closer into his chest, the fervency of his tongue searing into his skin. Guillermo opens his eyes to see the vampire’s face, but there is nothing, not even a hazy figment of his mind. He opens his mouth, but finds himself unable to piece together a single word. Guillermo’s fists slide loose in midair as he slips into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simon: Now kiss (smashes their lips together)


	4. Chapter 4

_Hello! You have reached the voicemail of Jeremy Harker. Thank you for calling. I can’t answer the phone right now, so please leave a message at the beep and I’ll call you back ASAP. Talk to you soon! Have a nice morning, day, night, or whatever time it is!_

“Hey Jeremy. This is Guillermo. I need you to come and pick me up. This is not a prank. I sent you my location—It should be at a house with large yard and black fences. DO NOT knock when you arrive—just wait outside and text me. Don’t answer if a bald guy with glasses tries to talk to you. Please come quick, I don’t have much battery left…”

-

Guillermo decides to run.

He wakes up in a dusted single bed, jammed into a tiny, crammed up room with no window. He feels cold and nauseated, the walls falling down towards his body like ocean waves. His head is spinning out of control. Guillermo turns and sees his own reflection in a tiny desk mirror. There is dried blood on his shirt collar and his sweater vest, as well as his hands and face. His phone is still inside his pocket. He tries to type, but his fingers are shaking too bad. Guillermo doesn’t have the strength to remember what happened last night. However, his pulse races at the thought of it.

Some plastic wrapped fortune cookies are sitting on the nightstand, to Guillermo's surprise. He tears one open— the package is covered in dust— and pulls out the tiny piece of paper inside— _He who seeks will find_ , it reads, but the words are moving and soon becomes something he cannot comprehend, winging over his mind like night birds passing through fogs _._ Struggling, he writes on it with a ballpoint pen he finds in the drawer. _Sorry_. The lines are trembling just like every fiber of his muscle, slipping under his wrist as he chews down into the golden knot made of sugar and oil. The tip of his tongue is still bitter, and he knows that he should leave.

So he flees. He dives into Jeremy’s backseat, throwing himself down and asks his friend to drive. He has to get away. It’s only fair.

-

Guillermo doesn’t want to talk about it, but apparently he is terrible at hiding things, especially when he’s splattered with blood red stains. Jeremy helps him into his own living room and heats up some leftovers, looking at him concerned. To Jeremy, Guillermo is either a PI or a detective of some kind. He never told his friend the particulars of what he does, because— just look at Jeremy. He needs to be kept as far away from that world as possible, for his own safety.

“What’s with all the red stuff on your clothes?” Jeremy gestures to his collar, “Are you okay?”

“Mostly fine.” Guillermo replies, not sure if he’s lying or telling the truth, “Thanks for picking me up. Can you— can you bring me some water? I don’t think I can hold the glass well right now.”

“You’re looking very pale.” Jeremy frowns.

“Yeah, I had a… work accident.”

“You can tell me if there’s anything wrong, Guillermo. Old J-boy is always here for you.”

“It’s really fine,” Guillermo squeezes out a smile, “I just need some rest.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you’re lying. Something happened and now you’re acting weird.” Jeremy holds up his glass of water, but keeping it away from Guillermo like some type of prize, “Was it at that spooky house where I picked you up? Did someone hurt you, Guillermo?”

Guillermo looks away to his windows, where the afternoon sun shines dull and distant. He exhales deeply.

“No.” Guillermo replies, voice cracking, “It’s my own fault.”

Jeremy sighs. He takes off his jacket and sits down on the floor cross-legged, watching Guillermo while he sniffs and pushes down some unwanted emotions. He just needs to keep his lid shut, as tight and impervious as it can be, then he will be alright and no one will know.

His eyes start to well up despite his effort. Guillermo clenches his fists tight, feeling lost and confused.

“Did you meet someone?” Jeremy says quietly.

“Maybe.” He admits.

“And you didn’t tell me? Guillermo!” Jeremy groans, “I knew it. Don’t give up just because you guys had a fight! Wait, did they hit you—”

“It’s not like that, I swear.”

“Then I’m really rooting for you! Know what, you can definitely make it work this time—”

“—It’s not going to work out.”

“You said the same thing when you had that huge crush on the Trader Joe's goth boy,” Jeremy lists on, “The exchange student in our senior year. Scott from the skate park. Every time you just say this, give up, and run away.”

“I have very little luck in this sort of thing.”

“You _had_ bad luck. Those were years ago! Every day is a new day, Guillermo. I’m still counting on you to find the one!”

“Not this one,” Guillermo chuckles bitterly, voice almost impalpable, “I’ve made a promise, and we won’t see each other again.”

Jeremy shakes his head disapprovingly. He reaches over to pat Guillermo on the knee. Guillermo takes a sip of water and lets it roll down his throat, washing off all the noise inside his brain. The conversation drifts away.

-

Despite the initial pushback, Guillermo is determined to move on. His thoughts still wander at night on those moony days, and bring him to places he is eager to forget—where forceful arms and maddening thighs hold him in place, fingers digging into his skin. He would wake up in sweat and shiver, the phantom touch of dark, silky locks still on his cheeks and almost half real. It is what he’s left with, that and two dots of already healing wounds.

He still feels weakened. The most logical step is to see a doctor, but Guillermo is lacking the emotional strength to make up a nice and believable story: for his blood loss, plus the possibility of _vampire saliva_ left in his body. A second, admittedly less logical choice is to see the _witches._

The witches of Brooklyn. They do exist, much to a younger Guillermo’s surprise, and gather at Satchel Serafina on odd days. It’s supposed to be a life-style store for essential oils and incenses and such, yet also a front for distributing potions, charms and vexes. Guillermo has crossed path with Quinn in the past, the one who usually deals with customers—no matter if they’re in for a mind-altering spell or holistic rosacea treatment. She is not known for asking many questions.

“I need something to heal me up.” Guillermo explains, “For fatigue and anemia.”

Quinn nods, eyes willfully kept away from his neck and his concealer-covered bite scars. But she knows, Guillermo can feel it in her gaze.

“How strong do you need it to be?”

“Just… pretty strong, I think?” Guillermo hesitates.

Quinn walks over to her wall display and picks up a small brown bottle. She squeezes some clear liquid onto her index finger, then sets it on Guillermo’s temple. A galvanizing tide briefly rises up in his chest before dissipating quickly, consumed by his breaths and heartbeats.

“Maybe something stronger.” Guillermo suggests.

“They took a lot, didn’t they?” Quinn removes his finger, eyebrows lifted slightly, “Play it safer next time.”

Guillermo feels himself blushing. The implication is that this is the aftermath of some messy vampire-sex thing, and Guillermo feels the need to defend for himself.

“It’s not—”

“Sure. Not very common, you should know, when a vampire sucks you half dry but keeps you alive.” The witch murmurs while diving back to a stack of drawers, pulling out a couple of small linen pouches, “Unless you have some power over them. Am I not right?”

She pauses, moving her lips silently, calculating the ingredients and price: “I can whip up something better for you, but you’ll have to pay upfront. It will cost you two hundred and fifty.”

Guillermo is still digesting her words, and it is far from easy. He nods, and Quinn continues.

“Is it a he? The one you’re _affiliated_ with?”

“Yes” Guillermo says before he giving himself a second to think, “I mean, no! I’m not _affiliated_ with anyone. It was... a special circumstance.”

“Of course.”

“That is not just an excuse!”

“I understand.”

“I don’t—”

“And if the _special circumstance_ rises again,” Quinn absentmindedly picks out some wolfberry from a small pouch, “Do you mind collecting something for me afterwards?”

“What do you need?” Guillermo asks, out of curiosity.

“Tell your guy the witches would love to purchase something from him. For _the potion_. He will know what I mean.”

 _And if the special circumstance rises again_ … Good chance it never will. Guillermo sighs and nods. Yet, he feels a strange comfort at the thought of having “his guy”. The misunderstanding wouldn’t be so hard to rectify, but Guillermo swallows his words, allowing himself to indulge in a slice of harmless daydream.

-

And it happens again, when Guillermo is walking home alone. He is slightly drunk, filled with that warm, cheerful buzz from head to toe. He has taken up more alcohol recently, holding up his chin and sipping in the dark, chatting with different bartenders aimlessly about this and that. He calls up Jeremy and Tonya sometimes, but tonight he is all by himself. He's trying to meet new people and to forget about the old ones—Guillermo reassures himself so, even though he has called none of the numbers he acquired in the past few weeks.

He is almost at his door when someone calls out his name. He tenses up as a figure walks out from the deep hallway and towards him, bare-chested, leather boots knocking against the porcelain tiles. He seems to be wearing a black gimp mask, revealing only his eyes and full, rounded lips.

“Guillermo,” the man says, voice smooth yet playful, “Don’t worry! Quinn sent me. The witch you went to in Brooklyn.”

“Um… OK?” Guillermo sobers up a little, “What does she want?”

“She said you needed some _release_ , Guillermo. A _helping hand_.” The man leans back against the wall, eyeing Guillermo with a knowing smile, “The name is Constantine, by the way.”

“I… I don’t know what you mean.”

“Ah, of course you know what I mean. Don’t make me say it, soldier. I can sense your frustration from miles away.” Constantine tilts his head and bends down, his warm, easy breaths hitting Guillermo’s face. He smells of cinnamon and tobacco leaf, potent yet enticing, with a distant note of something else—something entirely different; something dark but familiar, a burning fire at the far edge of his vision that he almost feels the heat of.

It reminds him of someone else. Guillermo bites down his lip and the man chuckles.

“We can help each other out.”

“You are an incubus.”

“I didn’t try to hide it.”

“I’m sorry, Constantine. But I’m really fine.” Guillermo sighs deeply, “Please find your meal somewhere else.”

“And why is that?”

“I don’t need it. I don’t want it tonight.”

“And if I come back tomorrow?”

“No— no.” Guillermo blinks, “I wouldn’t want it tomorrow either.”

Constantine shrugs. He draws back his upper body, arms folding in front of his chest, the latter shiny with oil.

“This is not healthy for you at all,” he sounds slightly concerned, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“There is nothing to talk about!” Guillermo protests in frustration, “Why does everyone keep asking me to _talk about it_? I am FINE. I am doing wonderfully. I have no issue—”

“—Beating yourself up and going down with your problem? Guillermo, uh-uh.” The incubus shakes his heads, “You really need to work through it.”

“I don’t have a problem!”

“It seems to me that you do. Like you’re really bothered by it.”

“You,” Guillermo points his keys at Constantine, “You are not my therapist. Also, there is no _it_.”

“If you say so.” Constantine shakes his head, “Who am I to judge?”

“You are judging me right now.”

The incubus stretches out his arms, showing off his lean, well-proportioned muscles. He looks at Guillermo with one last bit of hope, before deciding that he is way too stubborn to change his mind. 

“Can’t say I’m not disappointed. It could have been nice, you and me, some good adult-healing time.” He admits, “Not that easy to find a sweet treat like you these days.”

“Sorry for letting you down,” Guillermo pushes open his door, “Tell Quinn I said hi.”

“Then this is it.” The incubus steadies himself on his feet, pouting. He turns away from Guillermo, ready to leave, but Guillermo suddenly remembers something.

“You know what—are you still hungry?”

“I’m insatiable.” Constantine looks back at him, bucks his hips and smirks. “Why?”

“Alright. Listen, I have a friend named Jeremy… please don’t make me regret this.” Guillermo can’t tell if this is the alcohol talking, “I’ll give you his number, and you should definitely give him a call. Please be nice to him. Promise?”

“Of course.” Constantine flashed him an avid grin.

-

Guillermo is pleased to find himself getting back into his normal routine. He takes jobs here and there, and rides out looking for leads when he can’t sleep at night. He would drive until sunrise before getting his day’s rest, browsing every piece of shadow with apprehension and expectancy alike. He’s still looking for something or someone else, even though he would never admit it.

It is one or two hours before sunrise when Guillermo decides to return home. It would be too risky for any vampire to be out at this time, and the time frame is too short for them to hunt and drain a victim. Guillermo turns a corner on the quiet, empty road, where he spots a figure at the bus stop steps away. By the dim street light, he sees a person standing eerily still, looking down at their own feet. It is an older man. He is wearing a baggy grey coat and knitted, burgundy colored cap, face wrinkled and eyes wide, seemingly in shock. Guillermo’s gut feeling tells him to roll down his window—the man clearly needs help, if not anything more serious. 

“Are you alright?” Guillermo asks carefully, “Do you need a ride?”

The elderly man looks up at Guillermo. He nervously darts his eyes to the side, pushing his hands deeper into his pockets.

“I don’t know where I am.” He replies, bleakly, and Guillermo almost yells out as he spots his two sharp fangs. However, he is still not attacking— just staring at Guillermo, eyes glazed, looking genuinely confused.

“What’s your name?” Guillermo tries to stay calm. He is not yet sure if this is some kind of desperate new vampire trick.

“Benjy.”

“You need to get home very quick,” because the sun is coming up soon, “I’m not going to hurt you. So just leave. No one’s going to be here anytime soon.”

“But I don’t know the way! I don’t remember how I got here. I was at my master’s house; it was in the evening, and I was putting on the candles—”

“Just… just get in the car.” Guillermo kicks the stakes and holy water out from under his seat, moving them to his left hand side. He is equally confused. The man doesn’t seem to realize he’s a vampire yet, and Guillermo in no way feels right to let him burn away in the morning sun. “Do you have a cellphone? Can I look at it?”

Benjy hands over his phone— no password, and Guillermo taps into his photo album. The majority of his pictures are just the tips of his fingers and clearly accidental captures of various pavements, as well as a kid holding a golf club, pairing with some family cookouts. And near the edge of the screen, Guillermo sees the outline a house—a very familiar one. His heart drops and shrinks, as if someone is giving it a tight squeeze. He nearly drops the phone.

“You are a familiar. Your _master_ is a vampire,” Guillermo turns to the man in his passenger seat, “And his named is _Nandor_?”

Benjy nods.

“We need to go fast.” Guillermo sighs. He finally gives in to the universe’s constant string-pulling, because apparently he cannot get away, “I’ll get you home.”

-

He smashes a curtained window and pushes Benjy inside. It is still dark, but a couple of morning birds are already chirping behind branches. Guillermo sprints up the staircase and shoves open a wooden door, nearly knocking into someone’s chest. He knows who that would be.

“Nandor,” Guillermo looks up to the vampire’s face, “We meet again.”

“It seems that way.” Nandor pushes forward and holds up his arm, closing the door behind them. He sounds coarser than Guillermo remembers, sore even, “And now you come back, unannounced, after you left me. What a surprise.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a familiar who’s _seventy years old_.” Guillermo meets Nandor’s eyes, ignoring the bitterness in his tone, “You turned him and left him alone. He remembers nothing. He could have been dead if I didn’t find him.”

“He would have batted away into some shadow when the very first bit of sunlight hits. It is the instincts. Most of us learned that way.”

“He is in shock, Nandor. He is not a stout young man who can handle these sort of thing easily.”

“So he is old then. I did not know that.”

“Why did you turn him at all?” Guillermo pries, “He was living a good life, Nandor, he did _not_ need this.”

“It was what he wanted.”

Nandor pauses. He treads back and turns to his side, a cascade of dark locks hiding his face.

“Benjy was my familiar in the 70s, and we parted ways after ten years.” The vampire softens his tone, “He wished to be a vampire at that time, and I promised him so. But in all honesty, I did not want the same. So I made him forget. I wiped his memory.”

Guillermo leans his body against the door frame, not knowing how to reply.

“He has come back to get what he wanted.”

“So you changed your mind and turned him this time?”

“My mind is unchanged. I made a promise, Guillermo, and I keep my promises, like I did with yours.”

Guillermo can’t help but laughs.

“Should I apologize? For not keeping my end of the bargain? I will leave you alone if you want me to, Nandor.” He is so mad at himself. What did he expect anyway? A kiss on the cheek? He is a vampire hunter falling for a vampire, and now he’s pathetically inserting himself back into said vampire’s life. “I’m only here to return your familiar, and I will be going now.”

“That is—that is not what I mean.” Nandor grabs Guillermo’s forearm, fingers pressing down against his flesh. Shocked at his own action, Nandor jumps and lets go of him after only a split second, as if Guillermo is made of melting steel. He clears his throat and looks away from Guillermo. “Thank you for bringing Benjy back. I will make sure that he is safe.”

“And the guy, Colin Robinson,” Guillermo asks, remembering his previous visit, “He is not your familiar as well, right?”

“Ha! No. Colin Robinson is a roommate. The guy is an energy vampire.” Nandor drops down his shoulders, his voice slightly more relaxed, “I do not have a familiar. Laszlo and Nadja bring in new familiars every few weeks, but I have given up on that idea.”

“Why is that?” Guillermo asks quietly, for reasons unbeknownst to himself.

“Many reasons. Humans are fragile, easy to break. They live and die very quickly, like plants. They leave me like you do.” Nandor replies, “They are easily scared. They want things that are only good in their minds.”

“Being a vampire isn’t good?”

“It is _fine_ to be a vampire. Vampires are powerful. We do not age and die. We are sexy, mysterious... like _Twilight_.” Nandor defends for himself, “But not all of us can be _good_ at being vampires.You need to be strong, vigorous, not terribly afraid of blood—Sometimes you wonder, where did all _those_ humans go? Why can’t you have a familiar like that? The warriors, the ones who know how to fight and survive, the ones that are trying to do something with their life—”

Nandor stops himself and throws his body into a large, velvet draped chair.

“And if you meet a human like that,” Guillermo bites down his lip, “Why would they stay here with you?”

“They won’t, Guillermo.” Nandor smiles wistfully, “They won’t stay.”

Guillermo follows Nandor’s gaze. He arrives on a tiny piece of paper on the vampire’s desk, lying on top of some scattered letters. _Sorry_ , it reads. The edges of his note are now curled up and worn. He feels a sudden guilt pressing against his rib cage.

“You saved me the other night.”

“I drank your blood.” Nandor says in quiet voice, “I almost killed you. It was difficult not to.” He gestures to his throat, “Instinct. I had to fight off other vampires to bring you home.”

“I… I don’t remember much.” Guillermo admits, “But I’m thankful for that, Nandor.”

The vampire waves his hand dismissively, eyeing elsewhere. It’s now or never, Guillermo decides—and a bodiless urge compels him to choose the bolder end for once. He steps up and pushes himself against the edge of Nandor’s desk, hands landing on the cherry wood surface, right beneath the vampire’s chin.

“So what if I stay?” He whispers, “A day, I mean. The sun is rising up. You can go to sleep, and we will talk about it when the night comes.”

Nandor looks at him, lips slightly parted, like he’s captured by a mirage. Guillermo waits, his mind blank, his veins filled with agitation. Finally, the vampire nods, his face soft, his eyes burns with fervor and heat.

“Will you help me into the coffin?”

Guillermo reaches out to feel his hand. Nandor’s fingers are cold and rough, and Guillermo guides him so gently, like he would with a fallen hatchling. He has something now, Guillermo thinks to himself, he finally has a piece of this world as his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking this long! some unforeseen work situation came up last week :p  
> I'm happy to write something soft between them. Also sneaking in my incubus Constantine (gimp suit guy in the orgy episode) headcanon and Jeremy pairing  
> Kudos and comments appreciated >.<


	5. Chapter 5

_“— Bloody donkey shit butt! Nandor! What did I tell you about entering my recording room when I am recording? You just ruined my second take!”_

The cassette tape rolls on smoothly in the receiver, but the music has stopped.

_“Sorry Nadja, I did not mean to interrupt you. Uh, What are you working on?”_

_“An old tune of mine named ‘Lay All Your Blood on Me’. I used to sing it to the tavern goers when they were really wasted—it was like a drinking song for myself, very good for appetite. Now it is lost to this world FOREVER because of YOU! Do you know how hard it is to get into a creative mood for an exquisite artist like me?”_

_“I’m—I’m sorry.”_

_“Just state your business, Doctor read-the-room.”_

_“Well, I, uh—”_

_“Say your fucking thing before I kick you out, Nandor.”_

_“Okay, okay, Nadja. Can I ask you something?”_

_“Yes, sure, whatever you need.”_

_“It is about dealing with humans… that are not food.”_

_“Like a dead one?”_

_“No, like… you know. Like the guy you talk to? That Gregor guy? I hear you singing about him once, so I thought—”_

_“I have no idea what you are talking about, Nandor, and I know no one by that name. I am completely loyal to my beloved husband Laszlo since the day we met. Oops, I dropped my microphone! My microphone is rolling on the very slippery carpeted floor, so the sound is going to stop any second now—”_

The record is cut off.

-

He is not lonely. He is anything but lonely. Could a lonely guy bed his thirty-seven gorgeous wives (thirty-five of them, at least) and rule an entire country at the same time? Of course not, doesn’t matter if it was all in the past.

Nandor has not been lonely for more than seven hundred years.

Every night he emerges from his coffin like the grim, mysterious beast he has become, brushes his own hair and dusts his own cloak, tagging along with his married roommates for some victim hunting or vampire-only shenanigans. Or, alternatively, if said roommates want to have a couple’s night out, he might just be considerate enough to do those things on his own too. Some nights he stays in his own study until the next slumber reaches his eyelids, reading through past correspondence from long lost pals—the most recent one was from 1982, when some Michael Jab-son guy produced a moving picture and everyone thought the werewolves were invading (it did happen, but not until Stephen the King of Warlocks gave them the bright idea later that year).

The important thing is, Nandor is getting by just fine. Time goes by fast when you are a vampire. 1982 was merely days ago, Nixon has just made his big mistake, and Nandor can still remember the taste of fresh melons and carnations under the Al Quolanudarian sun. Those memories do not feel so far away. Once or twice he wakes up reaching for his little soldiers who cried for _papa_ in their dreams, only to knock his head on the coffin lid before realizing that they are long gone. They had left him alone, in his slumber, in the dark, the same foliage he has learnt to find comfort in.

-

People come and go.

He is excited when Guillermo storms into his life swinging stakes and crosses, hot blood pumping and heart beating like marching drums, smelling so incredibly fresh and tasty— not unlike a young guileless calf heading right into a tiger’s cave— and looks at him with those wild wide eyes as if he’s a Persian version of Hedy Lamarr with fangs and glowy eyes. However, his excitement is brief: it ends the second Guillermo steps out of Laszlo’s new hideout. He is convinced that they are never going to cross paths again, just like the countless humans, vampires and witches before him.

The second time they meet, Nandor finds himself experiencing a moment of overpowering panic. His mouth runs dry and throat closes up when he spots the breathy little man squeezed between Nadja’s arms, stiff like a mannequin. His cheeks were so plump and flushed, helpless but still holding on. It has become increasingly rare for Nandor to interact with anyone new for more than once, at which point he’d consider them an acquaintance—but the human is too frail, too _mortal_ and too cloyingly full of life, and it makes Nandor uncomfortable—no, not the right word.

It makes him scared. Well, if that is what it’s called when your stomach flusters and your brain stops doing its job.

Nandor is definitely not thinking when he launched towards the Baron during Nadja’s skittish speech. His old vampire brain is also completely and utterly void when Guillermo, who turns out to be less of a calf but more of a steeled young bull, holds him down with strong thighs and a silver blade, demanding to hear his answer. To know his _truth_. The stolen blood in Nandor’s veins simmers and ripples, and his ears ring with a racy tune.

He might be feeling something else. Nandor refuses to admit it, but it does not mean he’s completely oblivious. Guillermo makes the choice to stay in his life for a bit longer, and Nandor is glad, for reasons he tries not to investigate any further.

Guillermo’s blood tastes like molten sun, he later learns. It tastes like the first war cry in a winning battle, and his hair feels like fine silk. Nandor’s chest is empty the night he finds his human gone.

-

“Let’s pretend that _there is_ someone named Gregor, just a made-up dude.”

“Okay. So I am _imagining_ that the Gregor guy really exists. The hair, the arms, the bums—all very made-up and not real.”

“… Yes, Nadja. And how do you know that he is the one you should not be killing and draining?”

“It comes from multiple directions. You might start salivating even when you are not hungry, simply from thinking about the guy. You just want to put him in your pocket like a cute tiny squeaky toy and keep him with you forever. You just want to brush his cheeks and call him a little naughty kitty, even though he is so _big_ and _strong_ and _manly_ …”

“Hmm.”

“… And it will stink very bad when he gets brutally decapitated in the end, just being completely slaughtered again and again. People will tell you that you need to let it go, oh it is so unfortunate, oh you will find someone else, oh you should move on— But at the same time just don’t get bloody murdered! I spent five hundred years living my unholy life without getting murdered! How hard could it be, really?”

“I don’t think that is applicable to everyone, Nadja.”

“Because you are thinking about that Gizmo boy?”

“What? No—it was just a hypothetical question!”

“You have been quite depressed since he left, Nandor. Everyone noticed. They last victim Laszlo brought home asked if you were a _divorced dad_. It is honestly very pathetic of you to not do anything about it. You need to stop whining like a giant bearded baby, because you are a grown-up vampire with two fully functional balls attached to your sad immortal ding dong—”

The conversation is futile, Nandor decides. What is he supposed to do? Guillermo is a human. Guillermo is a _vampire hunter_. It is in the title— It will never work out.

So he tries to stop worrying, to stop thinking, to stop being angry or confused, never again asking himself any more questions. In the end it is not so hard, once Nandor gets used to it again. _Never kiss the hand that holds the knife to your throat. Find comfort in solitude just as you always did._

-

Guillermo’s palm is warm under his fingertips. The skin is rough at the heel of his thumb, and a pale shallow scar runs across the mount of Saturn into his ring finger. Guillermo, Nandor decides, has the hand of a training warrior, one who fights but not yet abridging his life as a long and unscripted battle.

Guillermo guides him. The human’s hand supports his own as if he is made of glass or porcelain, and Nandor recognizes the tenderness between the creases of his skin. He knows it from somewhere he cannot yet place.

Nandor nods and closes his eyes. In undisturbed slumber, he wanders across garden paths among nodding cypress trees. There is laughter, and his _khanome_ breezes into his arms, her cloud-white chemise so wavy and light. She looks up and smiles at him with delectation, hands resting on his waist like humming birds to a young and blossoming tulip. He remembers the touch. And for a brief moment, weaved into passing hints of lucidity, he understands its meaning again. For seven-hundred years it was buried away along with strands of his soul.

Guillermo is still there when the dream fades away, slumped into his letter-reading chair, lips slightly parted.

“Guillermo?” Nandor waves his fingers in front of his face. The human rises his eyelids with a quiet yell, and Nandor feels a bit guilty.

“How was your day? Did you walk around the house and have a look at everything?”

“I— Not yet.” Guillermo pushes his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose, slightly flustered, “I put Benjy in his room, and then I fell asleep waiting for you.”

“That is okay, Guillermo.”

He waits for his human to say something first, because he genuinely does not know where to start. When it seems apparent that Guillermo would not let out a word without some sort of confirmation from Nandor, he yields to break the thin silence.

“You have beautiful eyes.” _Fucking brickheads, is this really all he can think of?_ “And mouth too.” _You are ruining this for yourself, Nandor, that was so cheesy and awful._

The human blinks and gapes at him, his cheeks rapidly turning pink. “Wow, thanks. That was very direct of you.”

“I am as not used to this as you humans do.” Nandor defends himself. “I haven’t been doing this in a long time.”

“Used to what, talking to people?”

“No,” Nandor quirks up his eyebrows, “I am not used to courting.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Me neither.” Guillermo pushes himself up against Nandor’s desk. He is clearly debating whether to say something or not, and Nandor watches him with utter patience and fascination. “So maybe we should just skip that. We should—we should skip to the next step.”

“You need to tell me what that is.”

“Please,” Guillermo’s eyes flutter close. He lifts up his chin as if to offer himself up, “Please come here and kiss me.”

Nandor’s fingers are fisted in Guillermo’s hair before his brain has the chance to make sense of it. He stares at his human in awe. He feels Guillermo’s breath upon his skin, harmonic and untamed, inhale and exhale, again and again. A sudden wave of panic grasps his throat—he is terribly out of practice for any type of physical or romantic interactions, and this happens to be both—but the human leans into his space and catches him off guard, his hand settling on the small of Nandor’s back and tugging him close.

He pulses against Guillermo’s lips. Inhale and exhale, trembling with the same heartbeat, he shudders, as if he is alive again.

-

It is after midnight when Nandor asks Guillermo out for a walk, partially from the leftover social etiquettes he could still remember—he is sated just from being near Guillermo. He will ride on the warm buzz for a long time and nothing can faze him any longer, not even being sprayed on with holy water or trapped in a shallow well before sunrise with no way out. He remembers the touch of warm skin and lips, and everything else is frivolous.

Guillermo insists on putting them both in his small moving vehicle. The seat is not exactly spacious for his layers of robes and jackets, but Nandor manages to squeeze in and settle his elbow on the window brim. They ride towards the ocean. It’s not a route Nandor takes often— he cannot cross the living water by flight, so the wavy blue is not a feasible channel to the New York city. But maybe, just maybe, it is possible now; Guillermo can drag him across the thin bridges sitting in his tiny steel box, and to the other end of the new world.

They stop at the beach. Three or four topless humans are chasing each other in the far distance with sparkles in their hands, smelling of alcohol and cigarettes. Two raccoons are squeaking loudly right by their feet, yelling at each other while fighting over some pizza crusts left in the sands.

When did he forget how majestic the seaside could be?

“Don’t— please don’t go near the raccoons, Nandor.”

“Ah.” He retrieves his petting hand. Maybe Guillermo is jealous.

“Can I ask you something?” His human breaths in deeply.

“You can ask me anything, Guillermo.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Ah.” Nandor recalls, “Not for that long. I came on a ship around the nineteenth century, when some _circumstances_ came up on the European continent that were not ideal for vampires. We settled down to have a home here in Staten Island, me, Nadja and Laszlo. Colin Robinson came with the house—.”

“No, I mean _here_.” Guillemro gestures down to the beach underneath their feet. “Here on earth.”

“Do you think I am too old for you?” Nandor frowns. “I am very young at heart, Guillermo.”

“No! I was just wondering. I saw your portraits from the house. You have been around since the fourteen-hundreds, if I am guessing correctly?”

“Twelve-hundreds. More or less.”

“You were a king.”

“I was the ruler of my country. I was the leader for my armies. I was—”

“Did it get lonely?”

He should be more prepared for a question like this. He should know the answer, no further consideration needed. It should the same one he has told himself ten thousand times. But Nandor finds his tongue tied, not knowing what to say or who to convince.

“I do not know the answer.” He admits. For some reason, he thinks that Guillermo has figured it out even before he did. Is his human lonely, on the other hand? Is loneliness something people still do? Do they still yearn for a hug or a knowing touch even after hundreds of years, when kingdoms have been built and toppled, men have gone from holding weapons to gripping on tiny machines, when even _Macarena_ has lost its place on the dance floor?

“Do you want to be a vampire?” He asks instead. It is not a loaded question, and he believes that it is the right one.

“What? No— I don’t think so?” Guillermo’s throat moves slightly, “Maybe? I don’t think that’s an option anymore, since I have killed so many vampires with my mushy human hands.”

“Why did you become a vampire hunter then?”

“Ha! The full answer is going to be too long. The simpler version is… I was obsessed with a vampire movie as a kid. It was silly, really. Vampires were always elegant, powerful, _sexy_ —at least in those films.” Guillermo smiles, looking away at the far city lights. “I tried very hard to look for one. An actual vampire, that is, and to get them to turn me.”

“And you found one.” Nandor guesses.

“I did find one. I never learned his name, lurking in the back alley of the local bowling bar. He was not the dark prince of my dream—hunching over a trash can, unkept, blood all over his clothes… I tried to say hi but I didn’t think he could understand. He attacked me, and I killed him.”

Nandor rises his brows.

“Stake through the heart. To be specific, his feet slipped when he was chasing me over some wooden fences. It was accidental, but things just keep on happening afterwards. Vampires keep on finding me, even though I no longer want to be one. And I’m so good at killing them—no offense, Nandor. It’s in my blood.”

“Is that it?” Nandor bends down and picks up a tiny piece of rock, throwing it at the far water, breaking up the reflection of a full, bright moon. “Because you’re good at it?”

Guillermo pauses. He walks closer to Nandor’s side, shoulder almost brushing against his arm. When he speaks again, his tone is low and almost fragile.

“I was no one, and now I am someone. I help people. I have a name. I have a _deal_ when people ask me _what’s your deal_ , even though most times I lie. I have friends.” He chuckles, “I don’t want to go back again. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Guillermo de la Cruz,” Nandor hisses through the last syllables, “Do you want to be a vampire?”

He looks into Guillermo’s eyes. His own voice sounds so gentle and sincere and foreign. Guillermo opens his mouth but nothing comes out, as if he isn’t sure what the vampire is asking. Nandor clenches his fists underneath his cape. He awaits, quietly, humbly, hoping and praying.

And finally, Guillermo smiles. Nandor knows that he understands.

“We’ll see.” His human holds out his arms, eyes shimmering like rivers of stars. “We will make it work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this got sappy, and I blame Kayvan's comments on Nandor during the comic con panel T-T  
> So grateful for everyone coming along the ride!!! Plz leave a kudos or comment if you liked this fic. I really appreciate it a lot  
> Again, thank you for reading this. I love my boys QAQ


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